


A Rare Gift

by elfin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:31:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS for Hannibal Season 2. Set post-season 2.<br/>Hannibal opens his door to find his past has caught up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rare Gift

Two years had passed. So when he opened the door of the Florence house, one dull, rainy morning, to find Will Graham standing in the street like an apparition from his memories, he was struck dumb by the sight. 

'Hello, Hannibal.'

He didn't dare take his eyes from this day dream made flesh. Not only did he not want it to vanish as Will had so many times before, a face lost in the crowd, but he didn't want to see the FBI, Interpol, local policeman, every law enforcement officer who wanted to be there when ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ was finally apprehended. He’d known, from the moment he’d met him, that Will would be his downfall eventually. As much as it hurt, anyone else would have hurt more.

Will spoke,

’You have no idea what it's taken to find you.'

Hannibal acknowledged the compliment. He’d moved regularly: Paris, Geneva, Warsaw, Milan, Florence. Some mornings he woke not knowing where he was. 

‘I was hoping you wouldn’t.’ 

‘I apologise for disappointing you again.’

Will smiled, and Hannibal smiled back, even though it felt like an ill-fitting suit.

'How are you, Will? You look... well.' 

It was a surprise, but he did. Not the broken, bleeding man he'd left to die in the kitchen of his Baltimore home, but the man he'd been in the months before; composed, neat, confident. So different from the dishevelled man in pieces that he'd first taken under his wing.

'I'm alive,' Will replied, and he said it like it was some kind of personal triumph, like a prize he'd fought for hard and won, something to be proud of. Hannibal could well imagine, had imagined, the consequences of Will's injuries if he’d been found in time.

He said nothing else, and slowly Hannibal became aware of other sounds, usual sounds, of cars and the rain and people starting their day. With some effort, he cast a quick glance left, then right, and saw no one else who didn't belong. It made no sense that Will would be there alone.

'I don't...' Will paused, and seemed to be remembering his lines, ‘…seek to deny you your freedom, as you put it. There's no one coming for you, no one else knows. I was very careful. You have my word on that, although I do understand you might think my promises mean nothing. You'd be wrong, but then, you've been wrong before.' Will being there, his words, didn't make sense. 'Where's Bedelia?'

'Paris.' Hannibal answered without hesitation, because the truth was he didn't know. She loved Paris, it was a good bet that she was still there. 'How did you..?' But he trailed off. 'I'm sorry, that would be an impertinent question.'

Will smiled, an indulgent expression.

'It's been a long journey.' And Hannibal doubted he was just referring to the flight. 'Would it be an imposition to ask for a drink?'

He hesitated, he was being rude but he had to force himself to extend that small courtesy because for the first time in a while he was actually frightened. Will had power over him, the extent of which had not been clear until he'd left Baltimore and fled to Europe. Just seeing him now, the once fragile man who looked like a God standing in his long, dark coat on the narrow, cobbled street - silk black hair and bright, clear gaze - was enough to bring Hannibal to his knees, and he hoped it wasn’t showing on his carefully schooled features.

'Of course. My apologies.'

Hands in his pockets, Will walked forward, stepping over the threshold, saying as he did so, 

'Your apology is what I'm here for. That, and to get my coat back.’

Hannibal was too scared to laugh.

 

He took Will’s new coat when it was handed to him in the hallway and hung it neatly, directing the darkly dressed man into the kitchen at the back of the house. He offered him a stool at the counter and hoped the familiar routine of preparing breakfast would help restore his composure.

'How did you find me?' he asked eventually when Will seemed happy to sit in silence. Such a changed man from the splintered wreck that had first piqued Hannibal's' interest in the beginning. Now he was calm, fully aware of himself even if there was an edge of fragility that remained around him. That was hardly surprising given everything Hannibal had done to him, things which made his mere presence a shock; an almost impossible thing.

‘’How' really isn't of any import or interest. Perseverance, tenacity, obsession. Eventually anything can be found if you want to find it badly enough. And I wanted to find you so very badly. So much more than the FBI do.’

He hesitated, but if he didn’t know, he would never be able to take the upper hand.

’Why?’

'Because you made a mistake that night.'

Hannibal paused with his hands in the cupboard, fingers brushing the handle of a coffee cup.

'I should have made certain you were dead.’

He heard Will's breath, a brief snort out through his nose, and glanced across to catch his expression. He caught a brief slip of the mask, a sheen of frustration over hastily buried despair. And in that moment, Hannibal felt not a full revelation but the glimpse of an idea; that sick, twisting feeling of having made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

'You were supposed to leave.' Will's exhausted words were laced with tears although there were none in his eyes, and Hannibal licked his dry lips and continued making breakfast. ‘I called you, I told you they knew and you were supposed to be leave.’

He didn’t reply immediately. It felt like some sort of trick; a replay of the last time Will had begged him to listen. He poured bitter coffee into white cups and took the sweet pastries from the oven. He did this most mornings, but Will's presence made this morning surreal, as if trapped in a dream he couldn’t wake up from.

'Freddie Lounds was alive,' he said, accusation underlying every word.

Will nodded. He didn’t insult him by denying it. He wouldn’t have done that night, Hannibal knew, if he’d laid it out before killing him.

'Yes, she was - is - as far as I know. That was a move early in the game. You play chess, Hannibal, you know how a board needs to evolve.'

What had he missed? What hadn't he seen? 

'You betrayed me.'

'No. You betrayed me. You were supposed to leave. There were three players left in the game, but you folded, you quit, too early. And we all lost.'

Hannibal could only recall the heartbreak of smelling Lounds' distinct scent on Will that night in his office, when they'd been burning his patient notes. Everything he'd done from that moment had been coloured by the knowledge of Will’s lies. Anger and pain. He'd invited Will's confession over dinner but none had been forthcoming. He'd given the man a gift and it had been thrown back in his face.

'I did what I had to do.'

Will closed his eyes.

‘You did what you did because you were hurt. You kept Abigail a secret all that time, carefully kept her hidden from me to present her to me as a gift. Alana had it right when she said it was a courtship. Abigail was a ‘going away’ gift. But you killed her in a moment of petulance because you thought I didn’t want you.’

‘I gave you the greatest gift - I let you see me. You didn’t want it.’

‘I know you won’t believe me but I treasured everything you gave me. And if you'd just stopped to think, if you’d just played the game for a few minutes longer, you would have realised that, realised you'd won. I warned you. I called you. You were supposed to leave without me.'

'You warned me.' He tried to recall. 

'They know.'

The phone call. Just like he'd made to Hobbs the day the FBI found him, the day Will shot Abigail’s father and they’d all stepped on to the path that had eventually lead to this.

'They know.'

Hannibal shook his head but he lost his balance for a moment leaned heavily on the counter, took a deep breath and felt the reality of his carefully constructed life start to fracture. 

Will pressed on, ’You were supposed to leave.’ 

‘It was just a line you fed me to save yourself.’

He shook his head. ’I was prepared to deal with the fallout without you around.’

‘I’m a murderer. I’m a killer. You are honestly telling me you were willing to let me go free?’

Will sighed. ‘How well I played my part. What can I say to convince you?’

Hannibal straightened. ’Tell me why.’

‘I… I don’t know.’

That was a lie, but it was the first one he’d told and Hannibal was desperate to know why.

‘I killed Alana. Abigail pushed her out of the window but I might as well have done.’

‘I warned her you were dangerous. I told her over and over but she wouldn’t listen.’

‘That doesn’t mean you didn’t care for her, didn’t mourn her, didn’t hate me.’

Will took a deep breath. 

’I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you, even when I tried to have you killed. If I did, I’d have let Mason Verger feed you to his pigs. I know what you are. I’m under no illusions now, about you, or about myself.’

Try as he might, he couldn’t get the upper hand in this exchange. All he could think was,

’Freddie Lounds was alive.'

'Yes.' There was a patience to Will's tone, as if he was talking to a child. 'But the game evolved, it changed. I. Changed. I tried to tell you, I thought you knew. You let me see you, not just the killer but your heart. I was caught between you and Jack, I knew eventually I'd have to choose. I have limits, Hannibal, you just refused to acknowledge them. I couldn't kill Freddie. But when Mason had us, I saved your life. When you drugged him, took him to my house and convinced him to feed himself to my dogs, broke his neck in front of me, I didn't tell Jack anything. He had nothing.'

'He had you.'

Will shook his head once. 

’Not at the end. I warned you. I called you. You were supposed to leave-’

Hannibal looked up when he heard Will's voice fail him on the last word. There was a tear, a single tear, sliding down his right cheek and without thinking, Hannibal reached across the space between them and wiped it away with his fingertip.

Will leaned into that brief touch with such relief. 

Reality crumbled under that single, simple thing; the wetness of the tear, the heat of Will's cheek, the way his eyes closed, just for a moment, his lips parted. The trust he was showing to a man who'd killed him once already.

'Oh, my dear Will... what did I do?'

Blue eyes met his from under damp lashes.

'You left me behind.'

 

~

 

Over the weeks that followed, the depth of Hannibal’s mistake became abundantly clear. 

Will was staying at a small boutique hotel overlooking the river, in an ancient tower with a rooftop bar that was empty and private this far out of season. He was booked in for three months with the option to extend that indefinitely. Hannibal found out by asking the clerk, rather than by asking Will, but the ease with which the information was granted suggested Will had granted his permission for the details of his stay to be given. He had anticipated Hannibal asking.

He had no idea how Will was paying for the expensive suite at the top of the tower, and he didn’t ask. He suspected a payout of some sort, compensation for such catastrophic injuries at the hands of a man he’d been tasked by the FBI to catch. Whatever the source, Will didn’t seem short of money. He didn’t seem to care about it either. 

They walked together through the streets of Florence, the modern cosmopolitan city and the old town still at its heart. They ate out together, at small family-run restaurants and cafes only the locals knew. They took in the opera and a couple of plays, toured the churches and the museums, walked the bridges and ogled at the gold. Florence became theirs as they explored its secrets and discovered its history, substitutes for their own that for weeks weren’t discussed any further than they had that first morning when Hannibal had opened his door to find his past had sought him out.

Will had fascinated him from the start. Hannibal had always been enraptured by him and that hadn’t changed. He’d spent the last two years thinking about him, fantasising about him living with the memories they shared. Now, suddenly, he was sharing swathes of his life with him again, and the closeness that he’d had to believe he’d imagined slowly regained its shape. As did the intimacy. 

Those last few weeks with Will in Baltimore, he’d barely seen Alana. He’d felt so close to Will that sex had seemed a somewhat base need compared to being being with someone who completed him. They way they’d moved together, so in sync, he hadn't been aware it was possible to fake something like that. He had revelled in the spiritual stimulation of being with someone who mirrored his soul back at him, in the intellectual stimulation of being with someone who understood his references, who found flaws in his arguments and exploited them with considered counters of his own. The friendship he’d shared with Will had been the most fulfilling relationship of his life, everything else - everyone else - simply paled in comparison.

For two years he’d told himself it had all been a rouse, a web of lies and deceit so complex he’d been unable to see that Will was playing his own game against him. It hurt; an open wound refusing to heal. But perhaps it was the wound itself that wasn’t real.

The friendship that returned slowly, thread by thread, day after day, felt the same as it had back then. There was the same deep, intimate quality to it, that feeling of completeness in the other man’s company. Will was as honest as he had been back in Baltimore, not locking away those things he blamed Hannibal for, things Hannibal had been responsible for, but airing his grievances in measured and considered statements, giving Hannibal the chance to answer to his crimes but never asking him to pay for them. He didn’t understand that. He started out cautious, wary, caught between the joy of Will’s presence and the fear that he was once again being coerced. He tried to see the trap he imagined was being set for him but could not.

He didn’t ask about Jack Crawford or Alana Bloom, and Will didn’t mention them. A small part of him was curious to know if they too had been saved but he didn’t care enough to bring up a subject Will hadn’t. At night he lay awake and wondered about the significance of Will’s words when he’d turned to see Hannibal standing behind him.

‘You were supposed to leave.’

They’d had been lost in the noise in Hannibal’s head, the sound of his soul splintering and his heart breaking. If he’d only listened…

‘I’m so sorry, Will,’ he said, one night, out of the blue, as they sat sipping a perfectly acceptable Chianti in a dark corner of a restaurant on a quiet square to the south of the city.

‘For something in particular?’ Will asked. He was fearless in his honesty and frankness. Hannibal suspected he had very little left to be frightened of. He was dining with the devil. The worst things that could possibly happen to him had already happened. He had nothing left to lose except for his life and he didn’t seem to value that very highly, despite his obvious determination to survive.

‘For killing you. For leaving you. For not listening to you. For doubting you.’

The intimate table they were sitting at was round, they were almost side by side, pouring wine into one another’s glasses, sharing small plates of artisan breads, cured meats and soft cheeses. Their fingers brushed over the food, knees touching under the table, elbows knocking when they drank. Sometimes it felt as if that last night had never happened and things between them were as easy as if they sharing a drink in front of the fire, talking about how it felt to be released, to realise potential, to have no boundaries, no limits. Only Will did have limits. Hannibal knew he should have seen them, accepted them, worked with them rather than try to create his idea of a perfect partner. He could see that now, but now was too late.

The small table, the relative privacy in the almost otherwise empty patio, reminded Hannibal strangely of the confessional. Not that he wanted to confess. But he did want to atone.

’I understand now where I went wrong.’

‘You didn’t have faith in me.’ Will shrugged. ‘I was partly to blame for that.’

‘On a more fundamental level, I jumped to a conclusion, to many conclusions, in fact. I ignored my own advice, a truth I knew but chose to dismiss.’

‘What truth is that?’

‘As I said to you once, I could teach as you changed but what you became was not me. I tried to shape you into what I wanted you to be, forgetting you would only ever be what you were supposed to be. You’re not the killer I thought you were, but you’re still a killer. You’re not the man I thought you were, but that doesn’t make you any less magnificent a man.’ Will smiled that half-smile and looked away and down, embarrassed. It had been a while since Hannibal had seen that particular expression. It was one from the past and he was happy to see it. ‘I was heartbroken when I realised you were lying to me about Freddie Lounds. I didn’t stop to think that perhaps you were telling similar lies to Jack Crawford, about the things you had done. I killed you, I left you, because you weren’t what I thought you were. But the truth is, you’re more than I ever imagined. I was wrong, so very wrong, to do what I did, to leap to my assumptions and blame you for them. For that, I am truly sorry.’

For a few minutes, Will said nothing. It was a silence Hannibal was used to and he let it be, reaching for his glass, watching a couple walk hand in hand across the square, their footsteps echoing between the closely leaning buildings.

When he did speak, it was with his head and shoulders turned directly to face Hannibal. 

‘That night, just before I felt the knife go in, I didn’t know if you were going to kiss me or kill me.’

That wasn’t a surprise. Their friendship had always held a certain intensity, but towards the end it had bordered for weeks on the physical; an unspoken tension between them. When Hannibal made love to Alana, he did so thinking of Will. Will had admitted fantasising about killing him, but never anything else. He didn't know if Will too had thought there were sexual undertones to their time together, if he’d ever felt anything more than friendship. Or even if he'd felt that.

‘And if I had kissed you?’

‘We could have seen Paris together.’

There was the surprise. 

‘You… would have left with me? Willingly?’

‘Of course I would. Was I wrong? You said I broke your heart.’ It was the first hint of doubt Hannibal had heard in his voice during the entire time he’d been in Florence. ‘Didn’t you… want me, with you?’ 

‘I did. So much. I… loved you, I think. Whatever it is, I felt it so intensely, and I still do. I can’t seem to stop.’

Will’s expression suggested he understood the meaning behind Hannibal’s words.

‘What I realised,’ he said, ‘during my conversations with you and Jack, as I was pulled between you, fought over like some kind of prize to be won, was that in some ironic and twisted way I do love you. When they train undercover officers at the FBI, they teach that most of what they do and say should be the truth, or based on the truth. I’m not trained, not good enough to live a complete lie for months on end. I didn’t kill Freddie Lounds because she didn’t deserve to die. But given the right circumstances, I would have killed Mason Verger.'

'When he aborted your unborn baby, was that not circumstance enough?'

'He was simply following your instructions, Hannibal. You took the idea of a baby from me. Nothing more. In fact, you have inflicted more pain and suffering on me than anyone else ever could. Yet for whatever reason I’m still drawn to you. I’m still here.’

‘A moth to a flame.’

Will smiled and the tension eased down just a notch, making it simpler to breathe.

’Or a fly to a heat lamp.’ 

He picked up his glass and Hannibal watched his lips part on the rim, watched the ruby liquid flow into his mouth.

‘Tell me, Will. If I had kissed you that night, would you have kissed me back?’

Will put his glass down slowly, looking away, across the open square, blue eyes catching the flickering candlelight. 

‘Yes.’

‘And if I was to kiss you now? Would you kiss me back?’

Will didn’t wait. He leaned forward and touched his lips to Hannibal’s; a chaste kiss, nothing more, but he lingered. Then he licked the tip of his tongue along the line of Hannibal’s closed mouth.

‘I think the question is, would you?’ Hannibal shifted in his chair, hard just from that brief contact. Will smiled, not unkindly. ‘Why didn’t you kiss me that night?’

‘I thought you had betrayed me. I bared my soul to you, I thought you'd done the same only to discover we had both been living a lie.'

‘Still, before you killed me you didn’t want even a taste for all your troubles?’ Hannibal allowed himself a brief smirk but he knew he couldn’t hide the real answer behind it. Will saw right through it, had always seen right through him. ‘You couldn’t face me rejecting you.’

‘No.’

‘That’s why you did what you did.’

‘Yes.’ The word almost stuck in his throat.

‘You know, you could have asked, given me a chance to explain. You always strike first when you think you’re in danger.’

‘If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have survived this long.’

Will nodded his understanding. 

’You need to know, I wouldn’t survive another attack by you. By anyone, actually. They did their best, the doctors and surgeons at the hospital, but they couldn’t save everything. I’m less than I was before you. I have scars.’

Hannibal shook his head as he found himself reaching for Will and stopped. Back in Baltimore, before that night, he’d been slowly breaking down the barriers between them, little touches becoming increasingly intimate; a grasped hand, a squeezed shoulder, a cupped face. Each time hoping Will would lean into it, return it, react some way. He never did. But the morning he’d turned up on Hannibal’s doorstep, when Hannibal had wiped away a tear, he had wanted Hannibal’s touch. It still felt like a game sometimes.

’Mental scars as well as physical ones, I expect. Which is why I wake up each morning surprised to find this hasn’t all been a dream. I am stunned each time you have breakfast with me, dinner, a walk, the opera… each and every time you agree to be in my company.’

‘I’m more scared of myself than I am of you. In the hospital, I tried to finish what you’d started. I got hold of a scalpel and opened the artery in my left wrist. They stopped the bleeding before it really got started. When I was released, I checked myself in to a mental hospital. I was there for three months, I saw three different psychiatrists before I checked myself out.’

‘Why?’ 

‘Because they all said the same thing. That I’d been brainwashed. By you, by Jack. By Alana.’

‘And you didn’t believe that?’

‘I couldn’t believe it, because if I did it would mean that I don’t exist. I would just be a product of other people’s needs, other people’s fantasies.’

‘I can assure you, Will, you’re very real. And you’re utterly unique. I’ve never met anyone like you before and I’m unlikely to again. It’s why you’re so very precious to me.’

‘Yet you still killed me.’

Hannibal shrugged just slightly. 

’I am… possessive. I saw you as mine and if I couldn’t have you, no one could. Except that now I know I could have had you. I know the things I do have consequences.’

Will said quietly, ’I’m not yours.’

‘I know. But if you would like to stay, to be my friend, I would very much like that.’

He caught the playful smile, the twinkle in his eye.

’Your friend?’

He tried to step carefully.

’Or whatever you want to be. My friend, my companion, my lover. My partner.’

‘What do you want me to be?’

‘All of the above. I’m greedy when it comes to you, Will. And I’m hungry for you.’

Will leaned forward, stopping an inch from kissing him again. 

‘I want your mouth on me,’ he murmured softly. ‘But no teeth. No biting. I’m not a feast to be eaten.’

‘I accept your terms.’

‘I mean it, Hannibal.’ Although his voice stayed low, his tone changed from teasing to serious. ‘You could devour me, I don't have the strength to stop you and I don't have the will. You could kill me in my sleep, and if that’s what you wanted I would let you because I have nothing else to live for. You’re the end of my life but I would prefer it didn’t end quite yet.’

Hannibal picked up Will’s hand from the table, held it in his own as he brought cool fingers to his lips and kissed the tip of each one in turn.

‘I give you my word, I won’t hurt you ever again.’

‘You made me a promise once that you wouldn’t lie to me.’

‘I kept that promise. You were the one who broke yours.’

‘And for that, and that alone, Hannibal, I apologise.’

‘Thank you. But it isn’t your apology that I need. You found me and you didn’t tell the FBI. I want - I need - to trust you. I want you with me, Will, more than anything, but I can’t live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.’

‘If I was going to tell anyone where you were, you don’t think I would have done it by now?'

‘Maybe you’re playing the same game over, collecting evidence against me.’

‘Is there any evidence to collect?’ Hannibal didn’t react to that question. ‘I’ve known who you are for a very long time. After you sliced me open, after you killed me, do you honestly think anyone could have convinced me to give capturing you a second shot? I’ve seen you, Hannibal, for who you really are and still, I feel some sort of deep affection for you. I’m weaker now than I’ve ever been, my best chance for survival would be to stay as far from you as I could get and yet, here I am. You’re going to have to trust me the same way I’m going to trust you.’

Hannibal lifted his hand to Will’s face, cupped his jaw, felt him tense and relax. The last time he’d touched him like that had been a prelude to his death. Hannibal wondered how long he’d been dead for. He stroked his thumb slowly over Will’s stubbled cheek.

‘I want to be with you, Will.’

Will closed his eyes and pressed into the touch. There was surrender in his gesture, at least Hannibal hoped it was surrender and not resignation. Maybe it was a mix of both. Never in his life had he met anyone more difficult to read. That made him so much more interesting than anyone else, so much more rewarding in the past, so addictive now.

’I know. That’s why I needed to find you. You’re the only one who does.’

As sad as it made him to hear it, he thought that was possibly a touchy subject. Everyone else who cared about Will might well have been dead by his hand. One day they would have to discuss it, but not today. Not for a long, long time to come.

‘I was thinking that it was time to move on from Florence,’ he said carefully. ‘As much as I love this city-’

‘-I found you. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise for coming to me. The gift of your company, Will, is worth the minor inconvenience of relocation. If you accompany me.’

‘I’ll go anywhere with you.’

It made him happier than he would have thought possible to hear it.

‘Despite knowing what I am.’

Will smiled. 

‘Because of it. Ironically, I feel safe with you.’

‘Good.’

They finished the wine and walked back to the house, arm in arm. The world was looking for them. Hannibal swore to himself he would never let them be found, not as long as Will was with him. He was complete. What more could he ever need? Everything else, everyone else, simply distractions. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Under the sweet and the bitter, there was Will, clear as a spring morning, clean as snow.

Beloved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> [Published Fiction](http://www.madeleine-marsh.com/)


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